I Record My Memories 43

 

In the 1940's most of the young men of the village had been called up to the armed services , so it was all the older generation of men working on the farms and on the estate.

As we got to the age of ‘call up’ the war had ended and younger farm lads could be exempted, and father had a lot of papers to sign just to keep us lads at home and prove there  was enough work for all of us on the farm.

I Record My Memories

I record my memories, of where I lived my life,

People who lived and worked here, all about the strife,

The ones that moulded me, from very early age,

Learning how to cope with life, recorded on this page.

I started with my mother, and all the things she did,

Father’s next on how to work, and earn an honest quid,

Then it’s all the neighbours, of how they influenced me,

Its on to school and educate, to use my head you see.

Everyone’s an influence, in a small village like ours,

Tell you tales when they were young, they went on for hours,

Some were porkies I’ve no doubt, but non of them were lies,

Stories told and past down, told before they meet demise.

______

Looking Back them Years Ago 42

This is The Beeches Farm where I was brought up, the house was built in 1862,  it is almost a copy of where I live now at Yews Farm, built in the1830's  (picture in the snow in the right hand margin)  , and note the dormer upstairs windows, and the lower roof.

 Just compare the two pictures, half a mile apart

A traditional farm yard with cowshed and stables on two sides of the yard and on the other side almost out of site is the lofts where the corn (wheat and oats) was stored for grinding.
Below was the mixing shed, the engine shed and the milking machine vacuum pump sheds, also a row of loose boxes for calf rearing and pig stys, all brick and tiled roofed building exept the hay barn.




When mother thought we were safe to leave alone for a couple of hours, mother and father went to the weekly whist drive up at the old club room, the Beeches farm was a few hundred yards  down the road from any other houses.

I can never remember our back door ever being locked, though the door had a big bolt solid with paint and not workable.

So you can imagine what went through our minds when we eventually heard the back door catch click and foot steps into the back kitchen.

 Looking Back them Years Ago

Looking back them years ago, when we were little boys,

We bumped our knees and elbows, and father made us toys,

Played around the farmyard, in and out the sheds,

Testing all the puddles, thick mud into the house it treads.

When at first we started school, father trimmed our hair,

Combed and washed with new cap, new shoes without compare,

Short trousers and new jacket, a satchel on our back,

We all went there to study, but often got a smack.

Times tables chanted every morning, and the alphabet,

Till we knew them off by heart, of this I‘ve no regret,

Isn’t till you leave school, that you realise,

How useful school and education, help to make us wise.

Father showed us all his skills, from very early age,

Studied Farmers Weekly, read almost every page,

The pictures they were mainly, of inter-est to us,

News and reports on prices, what a blooming fuss.

We also had the Beano, a comic for us kids,

Dandy and the Eagle, must have cost dad quid’s,

Him he had his farmers weekly, it must be only fare,

Mother had a knitting book, for inspiration n’ flare.

It must have taken fifteen years, till we felt grown up,

Left alone at home at night, parents meeting as a group,

In fact it was a whist drive every Friday night,

We supposed to be in bed, but sometimes had a fright.

An owl it hooted in bright moonlight, scared us all to death,

Door that blew in wind, with fright we nearly lost our breath,

Scooted up the stairs so fast, and under the bedclothes dove, (another word for dived )

In darkness we were frightened, it was for courage that we strove.

On hearing the back door open, it was never locked,

Foot steps in the kitchen, bedroom door we chocked,

Then we heard mothers Coo-eee, relieved to hear her call,

Have you missed me duckies, we bloomin have an all.

So our sheltered life was over, sometimes fended for our selves,

Mother learned us basic cooking, as long as plenty on the shelves,

One at a time we left home, with basic thing that we were taught,

This knowledge we’re to build on, foundations life not bought.

                                                 ________

I Have Just Got Over Retiring Age 41

Bet a good many folk are in the same boat as me, getting left behind farming wise, getting slower, and just don't want the work. We have done our share over the years, much of it is mechanised now, not so much hand tools, If it conna be done from the tractor seat , it just does not get done.

 

I Have Just Got Over Retiring Age

 I’ve just got over retiring age,

And only now put pen to page,

And now I’m getting past my prime,

 Thing appear all in rhyme,

Following a train of thought,

It must be a bug that I’ve caught,

On looking back all through my life,

 How lucky I’ve been to have good wife,

She generally sorts out all my bugs,

As well as order all the drugs,

Cuts my hair and wash my cloths,

Boots I wash down with a hose,

 Food it’s bought with so much care,

Low salt and sugar be aware,

Meal are always at a regular time,

This I’m used to whole my lifetime,

Get up early every morning,

When most folks they are still a snoring,

When cows I milked got up five thirty,

 In for breakfast hands were dirty,

Not done this for twenty years,

But this old habit never blears,

A couple of hours of time and thought,

Before breakfast rhymes to mind are brought.

________

The cow that carries its own fence 40

Even if it is just a pole.

The cow that carries its own fence

There has been a picture in the papers about a young bullock with his head stuck in a ladder, and that reminds me of what father used to do to a beast that would keep getting out.

In the days before electric fences, it would be post and rail fencing and some times barbed wire along the hedgerow boundaries of the fields. Hedges would be layered about every ten of fifteen years, a section being done each year as and when needed.

It was in the hedge that was perhaps wanting laying that gaps would start to appear, and most often there would be at least one in the herd that when its head pushes through a gap then pushes completely through making it difficult to keep them in no matter how you try to block the holes in the hedge.

Milking cows have always been tied up by the neck with a cow chain for years; well father had a spare chain about in his workshop, and also about the yard was a pole about six foot long. He matched the two together by bolting the chain to the centre of the pole, the exact fulcrum so it balanced reasonably level when hung round a beasts neck in the field. They got a bit upset initially but soon got used to walking with the pole swinging about in front of them and grazed quite happily with the pole laying on the ground dragging as they stepped forward around the field.

The best part was when they tried to walk through the gap in the hedge only to realise that they were carrying a pole that formed a mobile fence in front of them.

Another annoying beast can be the one that suckles the milk from the lactating cows, a beast that had been weaned a year or more ago and has realised that it can cross suckle any cow that will stand still for her. Back in our workshop is a wooden anti-suckling plate made by the village wheelwright out of a bit of elm plank six by four inch, it had been cleverly cut out to fit in the nose. It had almost to be tyre levered into the nose and due to the shape of the tips of the fingers of wood stayed in day and night.  The only thing a beast warring this plate could not do is drink from the treadle

water bowls in the cowsheds.

Another one I saw was one similar to the one described above by this time had three or four nails driven through it so as to prickle and cow she tried to suck, and more up to date ones are made of aluminium with a thumb screwed adjustable fingers to grip in the nose also a row of sharp spikes round the front. These are a bit flimsy and a tendency to get lost. 

I Remember Farther Hedge Laying

Father liked his hedge laying, and every winter he,
Set about a big rough hedge, and stock proof it would be,
First he cut the hedge stakes, down in Moor Cover wood,
Then to sharpen on a block, as pointed as he could,

 He honed his axe and bill hook, to cut wood as if were carrot ,

Put on his holster and leather glove, took big wooden mallet,
He stripped the long tall growers, cleft them to the stool,
Always layer them up a slope, woven in the stakes the rule.

 The top of his hedge was bound, like edge of a basket wove,

He used long whippy willow strips, all firm and tight he strove,
Burned up all the brushwood, with a great big blazing fire,
Then he cleaned the ditch out, and put up new barbed wire.

 The new growth grew up through, from the stools below,

Now a brand new hedge so strong, new boundary  hedgerow,
Not need layering now for decade, till the gaps appear,
Then the master will return his skills to make a new frontier.

Owd Fred

Don’t ever take a fence down until you know the reason it was put up.

G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936)    

I Remember Mother’s Peg Rug 39

We did not have carpets in the living areas of the house, the only carpet was in our best room, a room we only used on a Sundays(for some reason) and that was just a big square covering the main centre of the room, most of it was under the large polished table.

In the other rooms were home made carpet, some made out of cut up worn out material be it old curtains or old clothing, and pegged through a thick Hessian sack, the sort we had groundnut flakes came in from abroad , (a feed protein for the milking cows)

The pegging was done with what we called a bodger, a thick needle on wooden handle, just up from the point is a slot which can be pushed through the material/sacking, the strip of coloured cloth laid across and pulled back through U shaped, leaving the two end sticking up.

I Remember Mother’s Peg Rug

I remember mother, when she used to make peg rugs,
There to put your feet on, while drinking Ovelteen out of mugs,
As kids it kept us off brick floor, just before our bedtime,
Feet all nice and cosy, till up the stairs we climb.

 She started with piece of Hessian, the size of rug she wants

Often it’s a big old bag, a thick one found on her farm jaunts,
Next she digs out all old cloths, of all the colours to find,
With these can make a pattern, with boarder and centre outlined.

  Cut them up all into strips, and then to four inch long,

Father always helped with this, to groups of colour they belong,
With the bodger they got started, three rows round the side,
All of us we had a go, centre marked shape of pattern applied.

 As it got near to the finish, essential colour runs short,

Up stairs into the wardrobe, through the cloths she’d sort,
To find a matching colour, someone’s shirt or tie submits,
Finished now and backing complete, and sweeping up the bits.

Owd Fred

How many of you remember making these rugs ?

 I think nearly every house had them during the war when luxuries were few and far between, and central heating never heard of.

I Remember Mothers Knitting 39

I am hoping to put a poem on this page each night time permitting and a blog at the weekend.

This is one of many poems I wrote in memory of my old mother (1910)

I Remember Mothers Knitting

In the evening to relax, mother always knit,

Jumpers scarves and socks, and gloves all made to fit,

All sizes knitting needles kept, neatly in a draw,

Some rolls of wool rolled into balls, left over from before,.

When the wool is newly bought, it comes in big long skeins,

We were asked hold out hands, and not aloud complain,

We took in turns to hold it, while she wound it into ball.

Sometime she would have, ten skeins of wool, n’ do it all.

She  knitted  socks, with three needles steel,

Round and round she’d go, knitted fast by feel

Starting round the top, made grippe to hold then up,

Then Knit one pearl one to heel all without a slip-up.

Check the length of leg, for who it’s made to fit,

Cotton thread along with the wool, for heel is being knit,

This adds to its strength, when the holes appear,

Darning is inevitable, with all of our footgear.

We have to lie back with one foot, high up in the air,

Then new sock is pulled on, with three needles not a pair,

See how long to make the foot, were growing every year,

Then cast it off up to a point, last thread of wool to shear.

When knitting jumper she had, two great long needles blunt,

Plain band around the bottom, and pattern up the front,

Working from her women’s book, does cables blobs the lot,

Hold your chin up while it’s tried, she’s such an old fusspot.

Round the cuffs and neck she knits, stitched to finish the job,

Try it on to see if it fits, worth more than just a bob*,

With there being four of use, could hand it up or down,

Used for best so smart it looks, going to the hoedown.

(* A bob was a shilling in our old money, now  5p in new pence)

Countryman (Owd Fred)

Mother knitted right into her 80's when she started to get arthritis in her fingers

Climate Change, the hot topic 38

Climate Change, the hot topic (or cold depending what year it was),

When the ice did break in the middle the tractor dropped about eighteen inches and had a job to get it out , then could not use that route for a few weeks due to the deep steps down off the ice at the sides of the ford.

I recall the winter of 1947 when we had a lot of deep snow which filled the roads and lanes level full to the top of the hedges in places as deep as ten foot. There was a continuous period of cold weather that the snow hung about for all of a month, and frost most nights freezing the water bowls in from of the cows tied in their stalls. The cows were loosed out each day for a couple of hours for exercise and if they had no water in the shed, we had to break the ice on the flowing brook. Nowadays we do get a bit of snow and often melted away by mid morning



That's me on the right in 1947 , when the roads were blocked for almost a week. In places the road was filled up to the top of the hedges eight or ten feet, almost walk on top of the fences and hedges.Picture was taken with the Beeches Farm in the back ground, and the original old beech trees. The tall chap with the leather jerkin was a bus driver,John Lowe, and the chap with his ass in the air was a cow man from Village Farm named George. My mum is the one in the light coloured coat at the back. On the left is John's daughter, and in the middle is Georges daughter.


I Remember Digging Snow 1947

I Remember digging snow, with my little spade,
I would be about eight years old, my friends and me we played
Little caps and scarves we wore, and wellinton boots as well,
Digging under snow drifts, till roof top down it fell.

All the men from in the village, started to dig the road,
Drifts for over a mile each way, they all toiled and strove,
To get the hay from barn to shed, out lying cattle to feed,
Even the tractors couldn't move, or get to hog of swede

The village it was totally cut off, for about two days,
Us kids we dug up to houses, digging out the pathways
For this we got a piece, of home made cake with jam,
Or a drink of Corona pop, just a little dram.

Bread man was the first, to venture in on foot,
Helped along the way, on our sledges bread he put,
The postman he was helped, slippery paths we ran up,
Paper lady old Violet, her papers did not turn-up.

Milk from the farms still their, to double in two days,
Take to Bridgeford Garage, across the fields on drays,
Bring back the empty churns, all clanging on the back,
To fill again them over night, and back along same track.

Third day we went to school, Miss Pye from Doxey walked, (our teacher)
Only six of us turned up, on board in front of fire she chalked,
Chairs and a table pulled to the fire, roaring up the chimney,
Compared our notes about, through snow we had to journey.

When the snow ventualy melted, lumps of drifts stayed put,
It took weeks for this to go, from under hedge and butt,
Floods came out all over low ground, silt and mud abound,
Pleased when the spring came along, thought the grass had drowned.

Owd Fred


After mains water came to the village in the 1950's I remember one very hard frost, that went on for a week and it froze the mains water pipes which supposed to be three foot down. The week after water still would not run and they brought in a man with a big welding generator, and connected his live cable to one fire hydrant, and run a long cable to connect his earth to the next hydrant, and run a currant though the pipes for about twenty minuets or until the water run. It took him all day to do the half mile length of the village.

There had been a covering of snow off the road line and that seemed to prevent most house pipes freezing to the house, but those that did the man connected his cable to the tap under the sinks.
In that same year when I remember the ford in the village had frozen over that solid that it carried the tractor and trailer, for a two day muck carting spree without breaking through, When it did break in the middle the tractor dropped about eighteen inches and had a job to get it out , then could not use that route for a few weeks due to the deep steps down off the ice at the sides.

In the 1970's ( think it was 75 or 76) we had that very dry hot summer that burned off all the grass and I resorted to grazing my cows down the cow lane which is almost a mile long and stayed with then for an hour each morning for them to eat off the hedge banks and lane verges, then taking them onto the peaty meadows where the fields were green no grass but just green and down there for water. The wheat and barley had quite good heads considering but the straw was about six inches high, the combine was licking it off the ground. No straw to bale on most of the fields.

The Millian Brook that flowed through the ford stopped flowing for the first time in living memory, there were still deep pools of water along its length but the different herds of cattle drank more than what came from the springs that fed it.

Church Farm is just up the lane off the picture to the right This is the ford and the foot bridge where most of the cows would prefer to queue up and go over single file, although odd one would always go through even when it was in flood and almost four foot deep. When it froze over it was around two foot deep, some water would find its way over the top and freeze again at night giving and ever stronger icepack.

The Millian Brook
The Millian Brook from fields filtrate,
All the water from the Seighford estate,
Same steady contour for years gone by,
Nothing to stop it, even if you try.

Through pools and weirs all man made,
It burst its bank its time outstayed
Through drought and flood to the ford
Its waters gouge its path contoured.

It winds its way through fields and meadows,
Under dark shade beneath the willows,
Between the alders hold banks well rooted,
Foot bridge now once it was waded.

The brook alive with wildlife so shy,
Wade and nest and burrow rely,
From flies and fish to mammals and birds,
All can be found as it wends seawards.
Owd Fred


Advice is like snow; the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and deeper it sinks into the mind.
Samual Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

 

Isabel Davies said:

What a great picture to have of yourself. So young and innocent!

# October 21, 2008 11:04 AM [Delete]

Owd Fred said:

Yes still in short trousers even in that weather, don't know if it was long socks or just dirty knees
can't remember, more likley the latter.

Need long toe nails like claws to grip onto the perch 37

Need long toe nails like claws to grip onto the perch

Dad always said that, "you're only as good as your feet,"But then he was talking bout, horse's cows and bullocks for meat.
Anyone who died in the village were said to have "fell off the perch"

Yes this is a picture of a picture, and my place is the farm top left with the eight bay hay barn, top in the middle on the same side of the road is the pub, and middle on the left is the village school, they have over two hundred kids from all the villages around and some come from out of town. Right of middle is St Chads church and guess who lives under the star (The Vicar in the vicarage.) There used to be four farms and four herds of cows in this area of the village but mine is the last one to survive, when I give up my tennancy even that will go as well.

As Old as What you Feel,

They always say that your only, as old as what you feel,

Now I like to have knap, after almost every meal,

And in the night get disturbed, got to water me hoss,

So now I think I must be old, me legs I cannot cross.

The old body that I've worked with, all my living years,

Getting tired and old as well, confirming all my fears,

Joints get stiff and muscles ache, cannot move so fast,

Stumble over rough ground, getting all harassed.

I cannot read the paper, until my glasses I must find,

Remember where I put them, must be getting blind,

The misses she has got them on, cannot find her own,

Each of us both as bad, but then we shouldn't moan.

Feet I cannot reach right now, back won't bend so much,

Got to have chiropodist, corns and toe nails to retouch,

Dad always said that, you're only as good as your feet,

But then he was talking bout, horse's cows and bullocks for meat.

Hair it has all gone grey, and very thin on top,

Need a hat in winter, the freezing cold wind to stop,

No insulation gainst the cold, a wig I got in mind,

But then its two lots of hair to comb, as well as going blind.

Ya mind is getting slower, reactions far too late,

The young ones like to drive, my driving they berate,

A dent or two I don't mind, but it frightens them to death,

When they're sitting in the back and cannot catch their breath.

So now I try to look relaxed, put me feet up on me chair,

Central heating turned up, find me glasses and combed me hair,

Slippers on oh what bliss, the telly's far too loud,

Lost the bloody controller now, good job were not too proud.

Owd Fred

It funny how your mind can wander when you're thinking of nothing in particular, thinking about mothers old soft water tank outside the back door and the sock come filter tied round the tap to filter out the house sparrow droppings, and how she used to wash our hair in it because it lathered better, all this when we were kids,
The different coloured bottles that medicine came in up on the top shelf, very few if any tablets as I can remember. The only "tablet" I can remember was disguised as dark chocolate, and after we had each had a square of it, were told it was for worms. I can remember the strong taste of it now, and it put me off chocolate for life.
The wobbly stool, the dragging wicket, and the postman with no nose, he had had a close encounter with a bullet or shrapnel in the war and lost his nose, there was just two holes in his face between his eyes, and he cycled eight to ten miles out and back to the village six days a week. A very brave and respected man for his courage working as a postman in all weathers.

Now We've Got a Leaking Tank

Now we've got a leaking tank, soft water leaking out,

Got to find a bung for it, a cork or something stout,

A cork from in a bottle, would do the job okay,

Bottles in the cupboard, we've got a good array.

Tall bottles short bottles, white or blue or green,

Embrocation medication, colour codes it seems,

For coughs and colds a spoon full, taken every day,

Bumps and bruises rub it on, oily vapour say,

Way back on the top shelf, most of them half used,

Find a chair to stand on, now I'm all confused.

Old chair it's wobbly, one leg is short and loose,

Take it in the workshop; it's had some abuse.

Other three cut them off, make legs same length,

On the leg bit of glue, stick it to give it strength,

But the saw it's lost some teeth, and it wouldn't cut,

Gate into the back yard, and that it wouldn't shut.

Timber on it rotten and hinge it would not hold,

Aught to have a new one or that is what I'm told,

Keep out intruders, this it wouldn't do,

Post that it hangs on, that also must renew.

There's another sort of post, which goes in a letter box,

Brought by the postman, from his bike he always locks,

Parcel to deliver, on the door he always knocks,

On his round six days a week, wearing out his socks.

It was always an old sock, which was tied around the tap,

This it filtered all the water, floating bits to trap,

On the front of this old tank, I think I've found a cork,

Stop the water leaking, out faster than it aught.

Owd Fred

No more old ones after this one, I will go back to being a kid. They alway said that your once an adult and twice a child in life.

When Gravity Takes Over

It is not until people of your own age,

Start falling off perch begin to engage,

Your mind to thinking what you will do,

When you're the last one at hundred and two,

Gravity takes hold and pulls everything down,

From your cheeks on your bottom to facial frown,

Everything sags and get a lot shorter,

When you get into that last century quarter.

Memory is one thing that you take for granted,

Forgetting to remember is not to be vaunted,

They say it's selective in what you do,

It's a privilege to have choice than get in a stew.

Toe nails can't reach and look like bald eagle,

Chiropodist trims and tells you they're fungal,

Gives you some cream and still you can't reach,

Old back bone won't bend but still got my speech.

The hair it still grows with the utmost vigour,

Round wrinkly face and chin it gets bigger,

Stretch and contort to shave it all off,

But some it gets missed when got a bad cough.

As you wobble out to the car that you drive,

Dented on the corners, too bad to describe,

Backing is dangerous blind as a bat,

Makes not much difference just one more splat.

To round up and sum up the older you get,

Experience all round but you do forget,

Long toe nail like claws to grip onto the perch,

Live on for ever not left in the lurch.

Owd Fred

The human race has one really effective weapon; laughter

Comments

Isabel Davies said:

Loving the aerial picture. Is there a farm in the country that hasn't got one?! They are always fascinating though.

# October 13, 2008 9:52 AM [Delete]

Owd Fred said:

Yes we have quite a number of aerial pictures of just the farm, and one of the whole village, but this one shows where Matt was born, at Church Farm, thats the house above the church tower. Where we live at Yews Farm top left, the school that he went to, incidentaly I went there and my mother, and more importantly in the picture you can also see his grave
bottom right of the grave yard close to the vicarage,
all within a few hundred yards square.

Fields in UK and fields over the pond compared 36

@jddoerr Plainview, Nebraska

I was looking on your link and was amazed  at how straight the roads are and how round the fields are.

Its totally different here in UK.

Fields had been laid out hundreds of years ago with a ditch for the boundaries and a hedge planted on top of the spoil, roads and lanes followed the contours of the fields and twist and turn.

In the picture below the road into the village comes from the left to a corner with a farm track heading top right, main road comes toward the old church of St Chads, corner again to the right and the rest of the village

That is my field top left its about 11 acres, I went in with the tractor and topper and wrote an advert in it in 30 foot letters "Seighford Village Fete 12 July 1pm"  . A light aircraft spotted it, and a big photo appeared in the local press. Not often you get a free advertisement  for our small event.

Same field in the picture below with all the large and small fields all shapes and sizes, in the distance is my neighbours farm and his lane and track winding its way from the road below.
A small wood, or Fox Covert top left with varying sizes of ponds and springs in most fields, and hedge row trees mostly of Oak and Ash
That is some of my cattle in a group bottom left corner of picture



It's been illegal to root out hedge rows for 20 or more years now, so were stuck with all these odd shaped fields, we are paid by  goverment schemes to plant up any gappy hedges, and trim them every other year, to retain berries for the birds to eat over winter.

I must emphasize that there are a lot of bigger fields in other arable areas where they managed to  grub out hedges (before the ban) for the bigger eqipment and big combines to work more efficiently.

Will post some more pictures of the village in later blogs

"Featured Farmer" 35

Yes I am well pleased with the honour of being "Featured Farmer" on a Mid West Farmers website.

That blog "The Longest Swath" has now got their motif and stamp on it now if you look, http://bit.ly/q9EYFL I've have had some positive feed back from over the pond as well here in UK.

Its very kind of Peter and Ally to mention my books, all they are is the blogs printed off and bound into a book, in fact its three books and 160 blogs.

There are a lot of folk my age who don't dooooo computers, who expressed an interest in what I've writ, my own brother is among them, so I have taken up printing and binding as a secondary hobby. I had a report recently that one of my books had been spotted in a second hand book shop looking well thumbed and a bit dog eared.

Folk are buying them for a birthday or christmas presents, (They went well at our Village fair 25th June this year) most country folk can relate to whats written, as can folk all over the world, or so it seems.

Thanks again for your support and backup (the blog averages 180 hits a day).

Fred (Owd Fred)

Track back with me over the last sixty years in my blog, and compare how things have changed.

Verse to theThe Wheelwrights' Shop 34

This was the first I'd seen dead body, and shook me dam well ridged,
Out with his tape and pencil, see how big to make the coffins image

This verse/blog follows on from the earlier blog about the village wheelwright

These men Jim and Bill were the same age and era as my parents, they both retired in 1985 when there was no more call for traditional wooden carts and wagons, metal gates were being peddled by Gypo's in Transit trucks, and the tractors were matched up to three ton hydraulic tipping trailers. The age of the "thimble cart" ( a tipping cart with shafts and five foot wooden hooped wheels) some of these had been converted with a tractor drawbar, but they only carried just less than a ton.

The Wheelwrights' Shop

The wheelwrights' shop, was run,by Jim Clark and his brother Bill,

A wonderful smell of new sawn oak,varnish glue and paint as well,

Soft under foot with the sawdust,and shavings that drop from his plane,

Inside of its door was painted like rainbow,cleaning paint brush yet again.

The timber he needed he fetched,Henry Venables Castletown saw mill,

Oak and elm, Beech and ash,all were rough sawn to plane and drill,

Wheelbarrows carts gates,and wagon wheels, all were made or repaired,

Some that his father had made years before, nothing to compare.

On the way home from school,we'd call to see what he was making,

And watch its progress each day, how and when and why we were asking,

From the fist piece rough timber, laid on his trestles to start,

To when he'd finished painting it,name of the farm lettered and smart,

Jim he was tall with slight stoop, he's broad on his back and shoulders,

His cap was square on his head,sept tipped back a bit when he ponders

Always a smile with his pipe in his mouth,loved to have a natter,

It wore a groove in his teeth,and wobbled about when he chattered.

With bib and brace overalls,and laced up leather tipped boots,

Short overall jacket hangs open, all washed and cleaned like his suit,

Minie his wife took pride in his turnout, never a scruff at all has he been,

She loved her garden not like Jim,-Tarmac it over and paint it green.

Bill kept twelve cows and some calves ,cowshed on the yard by the road,

Jim helped with the milking,and mucking out to the ruck he barrowed,

Milk was carried up to their White house,the lean to a dairy it was,

Three or four milk churns rolled to the kerb, hand over hand without pause.

Bill was quite short and stocky,and smoked his woodbine's all day,

Permanent smile and a grin,always a joke and a pranks did he play,

He was in village cricket team,wild batter and runner was he,

Other batter often got run out,umpire he'd decry with loud plea.

He'd gather his cows on his bike,six o'clock in the morning with woodbine,

Afternoon milking was three thirty,back to the field at five for bovine,

He had to go down to the Sloshes, count his heifer on the meadows,

During the day he helped in the shop,he painted the trailers and barrows.

At dinner time mid day both crossed,the road their houses retire,

For Bill he had an hours sleep,on the heath in front of the fire,

He was the youngest of large family,and slept cause there wasn't a chair

This habit remained with him,curled up on the rug and comfy there.

Jim he drove their Fergy tractor,on Satdee morning carted the muck,

They both loaded onto the cart by hand, in field they made a ruck,

In the summer they mowed their hay,Bill he rode on the mower,

Clearing the blockage, pulling long leaver, that to lift and lower.

Jim he also made the coffins, for any villagers who died,

He was the first to know,he lay them out and measure applied,

In one small cottage with not much room, he lifted off the pantry door,

With no one else about he asked,for me to help lift body off the floor.

This was the first I'd seen dead body,and shook me dam well ridged,

Out with his tape and pencil,see how big to make the coffins image,

With his pipe in his mouth still puffin,he talked to the person by name,

Eggcup under the head, big toes tied together,hands on chest what a shame.

Coffins he made in the evening, the tapping his hammer till late,

His mother and wife they lined it,now ready to load in his mate,

Bill in the meantime he dug the grave,down to the previous coffin,

It'd been a few years since I was down hear,bump with the spade to waken.

Jim and his father made many cart wheels, hubs spokes and fellows and all,

The hubs were made out of elm,spokes and fellows were ash I recall,

When they were ready were wheeled to the blacksmith,

He made the hot metal band,to shrink round the fellows forthwith,

As the years went by, and cheap metal gates, trailers for tractors came in,

This cut down his work fancy gates did he make,along with repairs within,

They both retired as age caught up and wheelwrights shop it closed,

An era had passed when they sold up, into history they were reposed.

Owd Fred

Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with he time, we have rushed through our life trying to save.
Will Rogers (1879-1935)

The Longest Swath 33

The longest swath or the longest furrow is always the one round the outside of the field.

I seem to walk and work about the farm these days in a reflective daze, half looking back, and half looking forward, with every thing starting to overtake my way of working.

(This is the interview I gave and aquired the badge of Featured Farmer of that week
http://farmnwife.com/seventy-years-in-farming.html  )

I look at the trees and hedges some of which I planted over my life on the farm, and how we used to mow and plough right up to the edge of every field. After all the longest swath or the longest furrow is always the one round the outside of the field. We cut the hedge banks by hand and trimmed the lower branches of young hedge row trees and trimmed the hedges with a brushing hook.

Looking now we don't have the same labour force, but is it so hard to cut that last back swath of hay/silage right up to the ditch or plough that last furrow and plough out the corners properly. They have the excuse now that it's for the wildlife, but back then we had far more wildlife than we have now, or so it seemed.

I see the balance of the countryside gradually changing over the years, and reflect on what it looked like sixty years ago, but then memories can be selective.

When growing up everything around you is the "norm", you take it all for granted that that is how thing have always been, when in reality, your parents and grand parents went through or have gone through modernisation and change over their years. The situation we have today in farming and the world of farming in general is just the "norm" for all those starting up a farming operation now. It's all I suppose what they call progress.

I don't think my father had an overdraft in his life, what he bought he saved up for, worried for days if his cash flow ( the word cash flow is too modern, never heard of it until I went to farm college) was running low.

Friday mornings were the crunch day when mother came home from shopping after calling at the bank for the wages for the men, (about twelve pound a man). It was like a big bank roll stuffed deep in her handbag, and quickly transferred when she got home into father's desk and locked up for the night, wages being paid out on a Saturday mornings.

Money had been very tight for my parents in their early days in farming, and they knew how to run a tight ship, nothing was ever spent if it did not need to be spent.

There had always got to be a guaranteed return, and this habit never left them in all the years of their life, whether it be the first fertilizers ever purchased onto the farm (nitro-chalk, basic slag, Humber fish muck) or whether it be knitting wool for knitting all our socks gloves and jumpers, which eventually became working garments and were darned and repaired many times before they were too holey to repair.
Thrift was the by word then, and we seem to have lost that word from the modern day vocabulary, it's become a throw away society now, nothing is repaired, if it don't work chuck it, and get a new one.

Maybe that's why I still have a couple of old tractors in the shed, still in good working order, but not anywhere near as comfortable as the modern ones, still got an old scythe hanging up and a brushing hook, you never know when you might need them (you silly old Bugger), I probably haven't got the strength now to work them now anyway.



Mother Always Worked So Hard (1945)

Mother always worked so hard, to rear her brood of kids,
As we grew bigger and in our teens, we must have cost her quids,
Four of us lads and our dad, Uncle Jack as well,
Looked after all of us, knitting socks and jumpers she excelled.

Big appetites we had, and thrifty she had to be,
Most things grown about the farm, including all the poultry.
Eggs and chicken, more often old hen, regular we had,
Potatoes beans and cabbage carrots, all grown by our dad,

Rabbit pie most every week, killed a pig and cured,
Only thing she did buy, big lump of beef well matured.
Bottled all the fruit she could, and salted down the beans,
Got the meals and baked the cakes, did washing in between,

Baker came three times a week, six loaves every call,
Corn flakes she also brought, lot of boxes I recall,
Through the war and rationing, never seemed go short,
Well fed, we all worked hard, and not much time cavort.

Owd  Fred

 
Nature is the most thrifty thing in the world; she never wastes anything; she undergoes change, but there is no annihilation, the essence remains - matter is eternal.Horace Binney

The village wheelwright and his family 32

When Jim was walking off down the village, with a long notched stick in his hand, we knew he was off to measure a body for the coffin.

They had a little grey Fergy tractor, which was used to cart the muck out to the field in winter, and in the summer, they would mow the meadows for hay.

This is the village shop on the left, a farm cottage next along and the third one along was the White Cottage the smallholding which was also the wheelwrights shop. On the extreme right is the village pub the Holly Bush


The White Cottage. [ Or The Smallholding ]
This cottage opposite the pub was occupied by Mr and Mrs Clark. It was a small holding of about forty acres, as on all the farms on the estate, it had some close land, and some on the meadows down the Moss lane, and some over the railway down the Moor lane. This house had only one main room, and a scullery, then a lean-to on the back of the house, this was used as a dairy to cool and store the milk churns over night, until the milk man came the following morning. Upstairs it had two bedrooms, and the only privy was a little brick and tile loo, under a bush, down the garden path. In this house they brought up a family of six children.

The new workshop that Jim amd Bill built is on the left, the two chimneys above were the two new council houses that they lived in later in life. The two chimneys in the centre are that of the village shop,(looking from its rear), and below on the right was the original workshop that their old man used from the 1900's

Old Harry Clark, I can only just remember, not a very tall man, and quite round in his later years. He was a wheelwright by trade, and worked in a low tin roofed shed down below the wooden pole hay barn. He was a man who enjoyed a joke, and quite mischievous in a nice way. It was said that when bagged fertiliser first came out, Charlie Finnimore, [of Yews Farm] sent a new man to spread it on the meadows under the Ashes Wood. It turned out he had spread it on one of Harry's small fields down there. Later Mr Finnemore realised the mistake, and went round to see Harry for recompense, only to be told very politely that he did not want it, and that he could send the man down the following morning to pick it up again, as he did not mind at all!.

Mrs Clark, Harry's wife, could only just get about, and getting a very old lady, like Harry she was quite round, and had her own chair by the fire where she could easily reach the kettle, without having to move. In fact as a child I was amazed that when Mrs Clark was sitting down she seemed to have no knees. Her part in the carpentry business, over the years, was to line the coffins that Harry made, for the local people, who were then buried in St Chad's churchyard.
They had six children, Henry [called Harry] the oldest, Jim, Bill the youngest, and three daughters in between. Henry worked for the post office as a postman, and travelled to work in a little old Austin 7 car, the one that had a straight up windscreen and a starting handle permanently out in front. Henry was the smallest of all the family, and walked with a heavy limp; this was due to him having a short leg and had a boot with a four or five inch sole.

Henry lived with his wife Nell in the cottage next to Lower Cooksland Farm gate, on the other side of the lane was a small garage for his car. Nell worked up at Cooksland House for Major Eld, and her father lived in a small room, or lean-to, on the end of a house on the end of Smithy Lane. He was Bill Ecclestone a very old man when I was a child; he helped around the different farms when needed. His worn-out body seamed to lean forward, almost forming a loop under his bracers, where his chest had been. He wore corduroy trousers that were tied below the knee with string, and old boots that had worn out laces. The shirts worn in them days all had loose collars, his shirt at work had no collar or stud to hold the neck hole together, and looked as though it had seen many washes [ and missed a few as well]. He lived an independent life in his small room, but well looked after by his daughter Nell.

Jim was the tallest of the family, and when married lived in the second house up the Coton lane [turn left at the west end of the village second house on the right]. This had a craft, [Crofters have crafts- small field] where he kept hens and reared a few pigs, I think it had two pig sty's. He worked as carpenter for the estate along with Eric Kilford who was the builder bricklayer; Eric built up Kilfords the Building firm and employed quite a lot of men. Jim took over from his father, when his father became too old to continue, having learned all the skills needed to become a wheelwright, and all the traditional tools that had built up over the years for that trade.
When the Cumbers council houses were built, in the 1950s, Jim moved into No10, and Bill moved into No9, right opposite the farm and workshop. By this time Jim was full time, having taken over from "The old Chap". Jim and Bill built a new workshop, with double doors that would lock, a great deal higher and bigger than the one the old chap used. A complete farm wagon could be built and painted all indoors, and a good deal lighter as well.
As I said Jim was tall, all of six foot, but I expect that working all his earlier days in low cottages, and always ducking his head, he carried his head slightly forward, giving him a slight hump on his shoulders. [Not quite as tall as he should be], they all had caps on in them days, and Jim had his pipe always in his teeth, not always lit. It was St Julian tobacco, that he smoked, and I got as much pleasure, from the smell of the smoke, as he did smoking it.
You get the ambiance of a room when you walk into it, so you did from Jim's workshop, with the smoke from his pipe, or the new cut oak shavings, or the fresh new paint when he's finishing off a job.
  His pipe spent that much time, in his teeth, that it wore his teeth away in that one place, to the extent that he could clench his teeth tightly, and the pipe would still hang comfortably. In normal talk, he would talk with the pipe in place. But if some cussing was to be done, it would be a prodding motion with the pipe in his hand. But more often than not it was tongue in cheek cussing.
It was always a big joke when Jim and his wife Minnie, went on holiday for a week to the seaside with friends. Minnie would have Jim move all the furniture, to dust and polish, "even behind the bl---- wardrobes had to be cobwebbed" he went on, in case someone had to look in, while they were away. Minnie was a big friend of my mothers, and was very proud of her new house, number 10 The Cumbers. She was also keen on her flowers garden, and front lawn. Jim had to do the lawn mowing and dug and planted the veg patch. His comment to these jobs was "Why didn't they build the B motorway across my front lawn, or at least tarmac it" he went on, "I could sweep it off and paint it green each spring and save all this work."

Bill, the youngest of the family, looked after the cows. Up until the 1950s they were hand milked, and then they had their first milking machine. Then followed a few years later with a bulk milk tank, they stopped picking milk up in churns shortly after that. Bill had 14 cows that was the maximum that the sheds would hold. They were well looked after, and heavy milkers, and nearly always turned out for the night onto the craft opposite the Holly Bush Pub. During the day they went down through the ford, to the banky field at the end of Moor lane, or the field at the top of the road bank on the right. At the ford the cows came from all directions, Village Farm cows came down the bank to the ford the up the Moor lane, Church Farm cows went down the same way as Bills. On the village green, Green Farm cows would be going out, and also Yews Farm cows went across the green to the Moss Lane.
On a few occasions Bill would have to encourage his cows to move across the path of another herd, or sometimes meet another herd head on. He always had a long nut stick, and always on his bike when on the road with the cows, and when a problem like this came up, he would get off his bike, and gently tap his cows on through the opposing "team ". He rarely lost any or picked any extra up, the cows knowing there own fields or sheds.
In his younger days Bill was in the village cricket team, often he was wicket keeper, then when in batting he would hit and run, and really liven the proceedings up, scoring some very quick runs, or getting himself or his colleague run out. The cricket square was in the middle of the present village football field. It was a football field then as well. During the week the cricket square was fenced off, and Bills cows would graze round it.

Bill in this picture is the small man fifth from the left behind the gentlemen with the bowler hat.


Always a joker he would examine a persons ploughing, to see if it was strait. If it was one of us younger ones, and it was crooked, he would be relentless in telling anyone who would listen, as to how many dead rabbits he had picked up. Telling them how they had broken their necks, running round the bends in the furrows. Another wease he had was when someone had spent a day working hard at cleaning or sweeping up, he would say "That looks better, which have you done ?", then watch for the reaction, then laugh.
Only a small man, he had a job to reach the floor when astride his bike, and with his Woodbine lit, and his nut stick across his handle bars, set off promptly at three fifteen to fetch the cows in. As long as everyone else was at the regular time, the herds would not clash.

They had a little grey Fergy tractor, which was used to cart the muck out to the field in winter, and in the summer, they would mow the meadows for hay. Then when they wanted timber for carpentry, they would be off down to Henry Venables timber yard on the tractor, sometimes for wide elm boards, still with the bark edges, for trailer floors, or oak for making gates, or timber for making a coffin.

If anyone died in the village, Jim and Bill would be called. I remember one occasion when Bill was not available, Jim called my brother and I to help him lay out a neighbour who had died that morning. The first thing we were asked to do was to lift the pantry door off its hinges, and put it on the floor and  helped lift the deceased onto it the door to lay her out,then up onto the table, this was a normal procedure as there is not much room in a lot of cottages, and pantry door or scullery door had hinges like a gate, and could easily be lifted off.
When Jim was walking off down the village, with a long notched stick in his hand, we knew he was off to measure a body for the coffin. People did not have long measuring tapes, as we have now, so a long measuring stick was used. [Carpenters usually had a wooden two foot rule]. If you are a person living in one of the Seighford cottages, you may never realize what your old pantry door had been used for, besides blocking a hole in the wall.
After having got the measurements required from the body, Jim would proceed to make the coffin. This would take all afternoon, and he would work into the evening to get the job done. On occasions Eric Bennion would call with his car, to transport the coffin to the deceased's house, discreetly covered with a blanket. His car had a large carrier rack on the back the right size. I heard a story about Eric, carting a coffin about on the back of his car, when food rationing was on.
There were strict restrictions enforced by the police, usually by the local bobby on a bike based at Great Bridgeford the next village. Eric, Jim and Bill had to move a pig that had just been killed at one of their houses, to someone who wanted it, but shouldn't have it because of rationing. So the obvious way was in a coffin, covered up on the back of Eric's car, and at night. I believe they passed the police but were never suspected.
Of coarse all the men of working age at that time, were in the "Home Guard" based in Great Bridgeford village hall. No end of contraband food exchange hands without a ration book in sight, not all of them worked on farms or were farmers.

Owd Fred

A verse relating to the wheelwright will have to follow on another blog so look out for it.

The consumer's side of a coffin lid is never ostentatious

Stanishaw J. Lec  (1909 - 1966)

Never discourage anyone........ who continually makes progress, no matter how slow. Plato (347BC-427 BC)